


it's like coffee and warm showers and the cold side of your pillow

by moffwithhishead



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Rule 63, always-a-girl!Dean, girl!Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-16
Updated: 2013-08-16
Packaged: 2017-12-23 17:20:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/929105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moffwithhishead/pseuds/moffwithhishead
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Deanna was his charge and that’s all she ever would be.</p><p>At least, that’s what Castiel had taken to telling himself whenever he found himself staring too long or too longingly at the young woman in front of him. Just because he was an angel, a virgin angel at that, doesn’t mean that he was immune to the special kind of Winchester charm that Deanna had to offer. He’d spent thousands of years watching over humans and in all that time Castiel, the little angel of Thursdays, had never seen another human quite like Deanna.</p>
            </blockquote>





	it's like coffee and warm showers and the cold side of your pillow

Deanna was his charge and that’s all she ever would be.

At least, that’s what Castiel had taken to telling himself whenever he found himself staring too long or too longingly at the young woman in front of him. Just because he was an angel, a virgin angel at that, doesn’t mean that he was immune to the special kind of Winchester charm that Deanna had to offer. He’d spent thousands of years watching over humans and in all that time Castiel, the little angel of Thursdays, had never seen another human quite like Deanna.

She was an enigma, an oxymoron wrapped in a dirty blonde riddle and it drove Castiel  _insane_. Far be it from him to ever make the mistake of calling her fragile but it never escaped the angel’s mind how easy it would be for someone to break her - in so many ways she was already broken but she kept going. Deanna had been through hell and back, literally and on multiple occasions, and she still got up every morning like nothing was wrong and took care of everyone in the bunker. Castiel finds himself unable to stop picturing her with children of her own and smiles at the image. When he tells Deanna that over breakfast one morning when everyone else is asleep, she drops her plate and refuses to look him in the eye. It feels like he’s done something wrong but she won’t tell him what. He should be more used to that by now than he is.

Her nails always had a varnish of some sort coloring them but they were always, if not perpetually, chipped and she always found time to complain about it to her brother and her angel. Castiel had asked her once why she bothered to paint them if the chips bothered her so much and she just patted his cheek affectionately, thinking something about babies in trenchcoats and “stupid blue eyes.” Sam said that it was so she wouldn’t bite her nails and when Castiel pointed out how many times he’d caught her doing just that Sam smiled and said, “I dunno Cas. Maybe you make her nervous.” 

The bathroom counters in the bunker are now covered in her beauty products and when Castiel tells her that she doesn’t need these things to be beautiful because she already is, her face flushes bright red and she spends the entire day stomping around the bunker like she’s on a mission to kill and the others are in her way. She told him once after one too many drinks and not enough self control that she didn’t think she was beautiful - hot, sure, but beautiful? “‘m not beautiful,” she’d mumbled into his shoulder as her hand cupped the angel’s cheek, “‘m not beautiful like you.” 

One of the most perplexing things to Castiel was the men and women that Deanna brought home throughout their years of friendship - her judgement wasn’t always what it should have been and she’d had her fair share of bad luck in the love department (she wasn’t as bad as Sam but still, it wasn’t great). Dark hair, bright eyes, pale skin, strong pink lips - there was something familiar about them all. When Castiel mentioned this in passing to Charlie and Sam, they’d laughed and exchanged an exasperated look. 

Now he’s human and everything is even more confusing but somehow Deanna starts to make more sense. Castiel can see now that she was always so hot and cold with him because she felt guilty - guilty for making him fall, guilty for making him hurt, guilty for existing. 

But when he’d shown up at the front steps of the bunker after Metatron stole his Grace looking utterly defeated and broken, fully expecting to be turned away, she’d pulled him into the tightest hug of his short human life and kissed the top of his head as she tried to pretend she wasn’t crying, “God, I thought you were dead, you asshole.” Cas had been startled by that and laughed a little without thinking about it as his arms wrapped around her and he hid his face in her neck, “I did too.” Deanna had hugged him for a moment more before pulling back and sliding her hand into his, twining their fingers together, and pulled him back towards her bedroom. When they’d walked past Sam and Kevin in the library who were staring dumbly at them, Deanna ignored it and didn’t stop moving until Castiel was resting on the edge of her bed, the one she’d talked about in her prayers (and the one Cas had slept on the last time he was here, with her sleeping in the chair next to it). She’d disappeared for a moment and came back with a first aid kit and started to patch him up.

They didn’t talk until she was done and then she climbed into his lap and wrapped herself around him, legs, arms, heart and all and mumbled possessively, “Don’t ever fucking do that to me again.”

Castiel had no idea what she’d been referring to at the time - ditching her, betraying her trust, beating her half to death, disappearing without any word, accidentally breaking heaven and staying away for a few weeks as he’d tried to find his way back to the bunker - but now, weeks later as she’s asleep with her head on his naked chest, he thinks he knows. 

Because the thought of losing her now, now that he knows there are places where she could go and he would not be able to get to her, makes Castiel’s chest ache in a way that he is accustomed to feeling when he thinks about his brothers and sisters scattered across the world, lost and alone. He was made to harbor an all-consuming love and devotion to his father, to his brothers and sisters, but he oft wonders if he is broken in some way, like Naomi said he was, because a world without Deanna in it is not a world that Castiel wants any part of.

Last night she’d asked him a question in the wee hours of the morning, when they could see the sun beginning to rise where they’d been sitting on the roof of the bunker, “Do you love me?”

He’d hesitated for a moment and tried to pretend, for both of their sakes, that he didn’t notice her sharp intake of breath at the silence that met her question, “I… I don’t know.” Deanna’s face remained neutral but Castiel could see the hurt in her eyes and leaned closer so their faces were inches apart, “What does love feel like for humans?” 

"It’s…" Deanna had licked her lips, hesitating as she’d tried to search for an answer. Castiel knew about the times she’d been in love - Cassie, the young woman that Deanna met on a case with John when she was young and the first woman that she’d ever been with and Luke, the sweet single father in Indiana that Deanna had spent a year with at Cas’ insistence. "It feels like…" She’d frowned and turned on her side so she was facing her best friend, her hand coming up to rest on his cheek like she was afraid she’d break him, "It feels like stepping into a warm shower when it’s cold in the bathroom. Everything feels cold and not quite right and then you step under the water and it feels like the world has suddenly come to life again. It’s dizzying and a little scary if you’re not used to it and it warms you from the tips of your toes to the very crown of your head."

Deanna’s thumb had brushed over his cheek reverently as her voice dropped to barely above a whisper, “It’s the realization that you could be anywhere with this person, doing anything, and you’d be happy just because they were there with you. That their presence there is what makes something good or fun or enjoyable. That you miss them when they’re not around, even if it’s just for a couple minutes. It’s that feeling of being able to breathe easier when they’re there and you can see them, know that they’re alright, and they make you smile just by looking at them.”

"Is it…" Cas had whispered back, not taking his eyes off of hers, "Is it like figuring out exactly how much sugar you like in your coffee or that feeling when you flip your pillow over to the cool side and the world suddenly seems easier to deal with?"

She’d huffed a laugh and nodded, nothing but affection shining through in her bright green eyes, “Yeah, Cas… it’s something like that.”

"Oh," he’d breathed out and smiled tentatively at her, "Do you… do you love me?" Deanna’s face lit up like she’d won the lottery and Castiel is sure that as long as he lives he will never forget the look on her face when she said, "Yeah, Cas. I do." 

They made love on the rooftop of the bunker with the stars and the moon hanging over them. Their hands had tangled together above the blanket that they were laying on as their bodies moved in tandem, working each other closer and closer to the edge until Cas had whispered, haggard and broken sounding, “I love you too,” and Deanna fell over the edge first with a barely muffled cry. He didn’t last much longer after that and when they both caught their bearings they traded lazy kisses and whispered promises of making sure things are different this time. No more lying, no more disappearing, no more making deals with enemies and no more sacrificing himself for her safety.

Deanna was a strong, independent, capable and fiercely intelligent woman who was respected, feared and even revered in the hunting community. Her favorite things in life were her baby brother, her car, pie, classic rock and a good ass. She wore jeans and army boots almost exclusively but when she dressed up she went all out and no matter what she wore she was as stunning as ever. The constant braid that her hair was in was as messy as she was and somehow her lipgloss never got out of place. She drove like a madwoman and she talked to her car while she worked on it like it was her child. She was selfish and selfless; brash and shy at the same time; a woman who knew what she wanted but could never make herself go out and get it. Deanna had never met a gender role that she hadn’t wanted to break but there were few things in life that she enjoyed more than cooking for the ones she loved. She was a contradiction in every sense of the word and she was, to Castiel, the most amazing woman in the universe.

"You’re mine," she’d mumbled against his neck before she’d drifted off to sleep.

"I’m yours." 

**Author's Note:**

> read it on tumblr, [here](http://oursluttylittleyoda.tumblr.com/post/55907083783/deanna-was-his-charge-and-thats-all-she-ever).


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